A ghost walks the halls in a familiar building. Been there, done that. What can you say? Everything has been repeated in my own mind already. The tasks are new yet the same. Can you truly learn here? I possess something empty. My soul emanates from a screen in a shell’s appendage. Move your shambling body and be aware of your half-owned physicality. I work the hours for no gain. A ghost watches as others enjoy the privilege of living. Eating and talking, what corporeal pleasures! They’re not for me. I’ve been told others like me can heal the split - by what ends? Agency is a lie constructed to make a world’s slaves feel better about themselves. Your daily 40 minutes of misophonic sludge has arrived - it’s time to chew and swallow! I count clock ticks and schedules before they are complicated to please elites. A ghost longs for a companion in their little room. Have the artist inside you killed for a nebulous future - it’s the wise thing to do. An education on the land of the living is in order - shame they teach anything but that. Pointless drivel, busywork, meaningless rules - even this building cannot escape from the throes of bureaucracy. Emulate the corporation. Be subsumed in an adolescent conformity or die of loneliness and melancholy. A ghost returns “home”, knowing they will do it all again until they live.